A Pinker Shade of Terror
by Thucydides
Summary: Crossover between 24 and Kirby, from a randomized prompt.


From the Terrible Crossover Fanfiction Idea Generator prompt. "Your challenge is to write crossover fanfiction combining 24 and Kirby. The story should use religion as a plot  
device!"

None of these settings or characters of my own creation, I am working in the cultural turf of both Kurby and 24.

It was 11:01 AM, the start of the third hour of the longest day of Jack Bauer's life.  
Again. He measured the day as beginning at 8:00 AM, of course. Nothing important had  
happened in the previous eight hours. Or the fifteen months prior, come to think of it.  
Things had been fairly placid compared to recent events over the past three hours. The  
ghastly airport explosion at 8:03 AM. The disquieting rumors of a nuclear-nerve-gas  
container on the loose. All this activity by a new faction. The suspicious death of their  
one lead, just as he was about to give them information on the terrorists.

Jack Bauer remembered it like it had happened twenty minutes ago. Which it had.

Now it was 11:03 AM. Jack Bauer walked across the floor of Counter Terrorist Unit LA like the American hero and patriot he was. He glanced at the shuffling desk workers doing jobs vastly less important than his. Jack Bauer fully expected that within four hours CTU officers like this would be trying to arrest him for 'going too far', within five they  
would be given shoot-on-sight orders, and within eight he'd be forgiven and in charge of  
this facility.

The CTU director raised his eyebrow as Jack Bauer entered his office. He considered  
trying to remember the man's name, but decided it wasn't important. His name, whatever it was, wouldn't be Jack Bauer.

"What do we do next?" Jack Bauer asked, his iron-edged heroism merging with his tireless devotion to protecting America's citizenry. "Nichols was our one lead, and he died suspiciously twenty minutes ago."

"Yes, Jack," the director said. "I know all that."

"That's Jack Bauer," Jack Bauer growled.

"Uh, right. Yeah. What you might not know is that there's some new information."

"About time. Is it an Islamic jihadist cell?"

"No."

"Is it a shadowy Russian arms dealer supplying an Islamic jihadist cell?"

"Doesn't seem to be."

"Is it an American corporation run by my long-estranged father manipulating a shadowy  
arms dealer supplying an Islamic jihadist cell?"

"Not this time. Rather, a CTU file has dug up some old data that's of particular  
relevance to our predicament."

"That makes Nichols' suspenseful and shocking death pretty pointless," Jack Bauer  
commented. "Why didn't we have this file before?"

"I don't know. Anyway, we seem to be dealing with a messianic cult, devoted to the  
worship of some being known as the KIR, an individual of boundless power and consumption. The cult has an emphasis on stockpiling food, plans to unleash a chemical attack on downtown LA, shady business connections and tightly-drilled fanaticism. Yet the information is only partial. There's a CIA operative taking off from Japan within the  
hour, he has a lot more information that should cover some of the gaps."

"Why can't he just e-mail the information to us?"

"I don't know. Anyway, his plane will be arriving in three hours."

Jack Bauer blinked. "From Japan? That's a pretty short travel time, isn't it?"

"He's on a fast plane."

"Well, we can't wait that long," Jack Bauer said. "Within three hours, this cult could  
have unleashed a chemical warfare attack and killed ninety million people in downtown LA alone. We have to act. Do we have a new lead?"

"Yes," the director said. "There's a patsy being used by the cell, coincidentally he  
lives right here in LA. The name is Brian Grant. He lives at 514 Olite Drive. We believe  
he has ties to the cult, and is selling them software. I want you to go to Grant's home  
and find out what he knows."

"Right. I'll tie him up and torture him mercilessly."

"You could just try asking first. He might not have any idea that he's helping such a  
dangerous group, and could be willing--"

"Torture. I'm all over it."

The director sighed. "Whatever you feel is best."

"What will you be doing while I'm off with Grant?" Jack Bauer asked.

"What I usually do. Staring at the distance. Trying to get my computer to work. Bickering  
with subordinates for no constructive reason. Getting distracted by my ex-wife. Crying  
because I'm not as heroic as you are."

Jack Bauer considered shooting his boss in the head. He'd done that to a previous CTU  
director, and it had done no end of good for office morale. On second thought, he decided  
against it. Keeping CTU stocked with incompetents made him look even more awesome.  
Besides, he wanted to keep most of his murders for the afternoon. Jack Bauer turned and  
walked briskly out of the director's office. It was 11:12 AM.

It was 11:16 AM. Jack Bauer strolled to his patriotic car, got in and began driving  
rapidly out of the parking lot. He felt a bump at one point, but kept going without  
checking. If he had hit someone, it had most likely been a terrorist anyway. He listened  
to Rush Limbaugh through the drive, just like every American should do.

Grant's house was five miles from CTU, and it took until 11:38 AM to get there. Normally it didn't take that long to drive through rush hour traffic in LA. This really was the longest day ever.

At 11:38 AM Jack Bauer pulled his car into park, jumped out to the drive way, ran up the  
pavement and knocked at the door. A minute later, at 11:39 AM, the door cautiously  
opened. A balding man wearing a blue suit and green tie stood there warily.

"Brian Grant?" Jack Bauer asked.

"Yes, that's me. What is this about?"

"My name is Jack Bauer, and I'm a federal agent. May I come in?"

"I--"

Jack Bauer drew his gun and shot Grant in the foot, then reached out with his other hand  
and broke both of the older man's arms. Each snapping of the bone was another assertion  
of the righteous and eternal power of the United States. Grant screamed. Jack Bauer  
stepped into the house, grabbed him by the neck and pulled him over to the kitchen. Good, a chair. The other element he needed to torture, besides an unfaltering conviction that the end justified the means.

Grant seemed to have lost consciousness. Jack Bauer used a roll of duck tape to stick him  
to chair, than gathered a few knives from a kitchen drawer. Grant revived and started  
screaming again. A woman rushed down from upstairs.

"What are you doing to my husband?" she demanded.

"I'm a federal agent, ma'am. This is counter-terrorist business. Please do not attempt to  
interfere."

"This is insane!" she insisted. "You can't just do this."

"I'm Jack Bauer. I can do whatever I want."

"I'm going to call the police."

Jack Bauer swiveled, grabbed her by the head and smashed her face into the wall until she  
was unconscious, then turned back to Grant. Often things went better without the woman.  
Jack Bauer knew he wasn't a misogynist because he loved his daughter. He picked up a  
butter knife and held it in front of Grant's face.

"Tell me about the KIR-cult," he said.

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Grant said.

Jack Bauer knew he was lying. So he pressed down with the butter knife and cut off  
Grant's left hand with a single, firm, slice. He reflected that it wasn't nearly as  
awesome and patriotic as the time he killed a man using only his front teeth, but it  
wasn't bad. Grant had passed out again. Jack Bauer stopped the wound with duck tape, than slapped Grant's face until his eyes opened.

"Tell me about the KIR-cult," Jack Bauer repeated.

"Fine! Yes, I'm a member. I worship the great Consumer, who will establish his omnipotent rule over this country, over this entire planet! His mercy and wrath are awesome, and all who defy him will know a swift death."

"Tell me where I can find the cult leader," Jack Bauer said.

"No. I will never give him up to you. My faith is pure, my resolve mighty."

"I don't understand how traitors like you can hate America," Jack Bauer said, picking up  
the butter knife again and cutting off Grant's other hand. "After all it offers you, and  
all the sacrifices patriots like me have made to protect you."

Grant screamed again. Jack Bauer plucked out his left eye, than tossed it down the  
garbage disposal.

"Stop, stop! I'll talk! The Great Leader can be found in a facility four blocks from  
here. Just off Wagon Station."

"Thank you," Jack Bauer said sincerely. He reached out and snapped Grant's neck, than  
stood up and walked away, proud in the conviction that this household was now safe from  
terrorists. He loved his daughter, and he loved his country. It was 11:48 AM.

It was 11:56 AM. Jack Bauer looked at the blank, silent warehouse from across the street.  
It looked like a terrorist facility to him. As he ran across the street towards the  
building he considered telling CTU about this development, and bringing in backup. Nah.  
They'd only get in the way.

Jack Bauer jumped through the window, rolling over the glass fragments and down the long hallway. He stood up in the beige, central room, confronted by five terrorists holding  
rifles. Jack Bauer drew his pistol and killed them with four well placed bullets. It was  
neat that he was able to do that. Jack Bauer wasn't sure how, ever since his wife's death  
his physical capacity seemed to have increased by leaps and bounds. Yet his joy in the  
deaths of the terrorists was tempered by the sorrow that he hadn't been able to torture  
them first, for the glory of America.

Re-loading, he hurried into the next room and saw a short, round, pink marshmallow being standing in front of a large map of the United States.

"Freeze!" Jack Bauer said.

The weird pink-marshmallow thing turned to face him and said something incomprehensible.

"What?" Jack Bauer demanded, mapping out his seventy four best ideas for torturing the  
terrorist. "Speak American, not your barbarian Arabic."

The pink blob made another noise that Jack Bauer couldn't decipher. Small matter. If the  
weirdo didn't speak English he'd still torture all the information out of him. Jack Bauer  
was feeling unseasonably stocked. It was only the fourth hour so clearly the pig blob  
wasn't the chief terror architect, probably it was only a minion of a minion of a minion.  
Still, he got a chance to torture a recognizably non-humanoid for the first time. He  
wasn't sure what information he needed, but he'd think of something to ask when he was  
cutting into the bright pink skin. Jack Bauer glanced around the room for some tape.

The creature opened it's mouth and made an odd whirling noise. Unaccountably, Jack Bauer felt a strong pull against his gun, wrenching it from his hand before he could react. All his steely resolve and fanatical nationalism were of no avail as he watched his treasured terrorist-killing weapon fly into the gullet of the pink menace. The creature swallowed, and all traces of the gun vanished.

Jack Bauer stared in horror, feeling even worse than the time he'd been medically dead  
from torture performed by a shadowy oil cartel that had tried to nuke Los Angeles.  
"You're not human!" he shouted at the pink monstrosity. "That means you couldn't possibly be a citizen of the United States of America. You're a terrorist and an illegal  
immigrant."

Jack Bauer rushed forward to punch at the monstrous being. Before he'd gotten halfway the thing sucked in a gust of air and blew it at him. Jack Bauer was thrown like an acorn in a tornado, smashing painfully onto the ground.

Jack Bauer winced, and placed a hand along the edge of his heroically right-wing chest.  
It felt like he had several broken ribs, some internal bleeding and a ruptured spleen. He  
should be fully healed in thirty minutes or so. That still left the immediate problem of  
overcoming the pink terrorist. It was a hard situation, and a lesser man than Jack Bauer  
might have give in to pain, or the basic physical realities. However Jack Bauer was not a  
lesser man. He figured that if he could invade a Chinese embassy, he could find a way to  
kill this weird alien thing.

Abruptly, the creature spoke again. The words were still gibberish, but this time Jack  
Bauer seemed to hear an echo of meaning in his mind, like some sort of psychic  
impression, the words "Surrender and worship me." Jack Bauer pulled himself to his feet  
and stared down at the blob with the righteous determination of a white male American who had been wronged.

"My name is Jack Bauer, and I'm a federal agent," Jack Bauer said. "I will never worship  
you, for I worship nothing except my country. I love my country. Notwithstanding that I  
know every government leader is corrupt, evil or incompetent, and America has tried to  
kill or imprison me at least a dozen times. A patriot must serve his country, and  
sometimes that means landing a plane on a runway while the president tries to shoot you  
down. You are a terrorist, and are therefore the very opposite of an American. You  
deserve to die, and I deserve to kill you. Have I mentioned that I'm Jack Bauer?"

Somehow the pink marshmallow managed to make a shrug without having any visible  
shoulders. It hopped forward, pulled a gigantic hammer out of thin air, and smashed it  
into Jack Bauer's head. The hammer annihilated the skull as easily as the Bush  
administration had eroded core Constitutional liberties, pulverizing Jack Bauer's brain  
with a loud thwack. The corpse fell to the ground.

It was 11:59 and 57 seconds. 58 seconds. 59 seconds. It was 12:00, noon on what had  
become the shortest day of Jack Bauer's life.


End file.
